reminiscence

Junior high school, the supposed formula for a successful social life was anathema to my being. I was MacDuff, untimely ripped from the womb of pre-teen comfort; thrust into a milieu of underachieving repeaters.
I had been a top student, well-liked by most teachers and some of my classmates, especially those with whom I interacted. That is until grade four, Miss Beverly Camp's class at Saint Stephen's Annex. It was the year I was sent to live with my mother, rejected by both father and brother. I noticed that around that time a usually honest person began to cheat.. It began in Miss C's class around a display of dinosaurs. Before class we were playing with it when we were not allowed to. When questioned, the class said it was playing with it and was subsequently detained after school. I protested my innocence and was allowed to go home. That was the beginning, I think, of my loss of stature.
Living with Mom and her boyfriend was, in hindsight, a bad time. For those years I got up early, made some breakfast or not using the old oil burning stove, dressed, got the ferry across Halifax Harbour, bought a newspaper for a dime from the older vendor who would intone, "Mail Stair, Sir," caught the electric bus to the city's Northend, and arrived at school by 8:20 in time for catechism class. Every school day until the end of sixth grade. I remember my teachers; Miss Napier who got married and her name became Mrs. Arab, Sister Francis Agnes (whatever happened to her?), Sister Agnes Christine; some of the kids; but, I have no recollection of any parties. I must have been invited to the occasional birthday party, but I am not sure. Most likely, not. You see, children from a broken home ( as it was called back then) were shunned by good Catholic society.
My school work didn't suffer despite my social hardship. It didn't plummet until grade seven at Bicentennial Junior High Scool in Dartmouth. In order to attend BiHi, as a student coming from Halifax, I had to write an entrance exam in both math and English during the last week of August. Dartmouth schools did not accept the report cards and standings from other districts. Since the tests were in late August and I was a pre-teen, I did not take them seriously. As a result I was placed in the academically lowest grade seven class. My homeroom teacher was an elderly lady from England who taught English, social studies, and French. I remeber the word "pupitre" being pronounce "poop it ear". She was my introduction to the French language. Her pronunciation of both languages was so abhorrent that I had great difficulty learning from her. I would cheat during vocabulary tests and homework and that seed of deciet, planted in grade four, blossomed. In my other classes I started to laze and became a reluctant learner. I was uncomfortable, hated school and teachers, and longed for the comfort of my old chums.
That comfort was no longer available to me and I drifted into the circle of misfits, assholes, and ne'er-do-wells. I was taught how to smoke by one-legged Michael, to steal by Davey T., and of course, I already knew how to lie. It was no problem for me to go to the corner store and sneak extra ice cream into the cone, unpaid candy into my brown paper bag, or a couple of smokes. I didn't realize until much later that I disliked myself. I wasn't truly happy until grade nine when I was back with Dad, and the school I thought I belonged.
The kids were there although in different homerooms. My two year sojourn separated me academically from the kids I competed with and that was a shame. I was no longer able to keep up with them. I was placed in a class with second tier kids and that was OK. I had learned to work as hard as needs be and I learn that expectations differed from homeroom to homeroom. My homeroom expectations were good but not exceptional. I never fully recovered from my introduction to junior high and that continued throughout the rest of my school time, even unto high school.
I was socially awkward, was shy around the fair sex although I had a several serious crushes but was victimized by unrequited love. My social skills were further challenged in high school where the boys and girls were taught in separate areas of the building. Men were never permitted to cross the demarkation line during school hours. Even recess was sexually segregated. Thank God for university!